Page:Tragedies of Sophocles (Plumptre 1878).djvu/204

106

And here this woe-worn one

(Not I alone) is found;

As some far northern shore,

Smitten by ceaseless waves,

Is lashed by every wind;

So ever-haunting woes,

Surging in billows fierce,

Lash him from crown to base;

Some from the westering sun,

Some from the eastern dawn,

These, from the noontide south,

Those, from the midnight of Rhipæan hills.

Antig. And here, my father, so it seems, he comes,

The stranger, all alone, and, as he walks,

He sheds a flood of tears incessantly.

Œdip. Who is this man?

Antig. He, who this long time past

We thought and spoke of, Polyneikes, comes.

Polyn. What shall I do, ah me! mine ills bewail,

My sisters, or shed tears for what I see

My aged father suffering? I have found

Both him and you in strange land wandering;

And this his garb, whose time-worn squalidness

Matches the time-worn face, and makes the form

All foul to look on, and his uncombed hair,

Tossed by the breeze, falls o'er his sightless brow.

And she, my sister, as it seems, provides

For this poor life its daily sustenance.